Chapter 1 - The Shadow and Blood
The sun set slowly on the horizon, casting a golden glow over the Forgotten Shadow Mountains. The sky, painted in shades of orange and crimson, announced the end of another day. Shadows stretched across the fields, dancing to the rhythm of the evening breeze.
Mo Chen, a seventeen-year-old boy, worked tirelessly, harvesting the last grains of the day. His disheveled black hair, tousled by the wind, contrasted with his pale skin and scarlet eyes, as intense as rubies bathed in blood.
In the village, Mo Chen was known as the "cursed boy." Since his birth, a cloud of misfortune seemed to follow him. On the night he came into the world, a scarlet comet tore through the sky, casting a sinister shadow over the village. The superstitious and fearful villagers kept their distance, whispering about his fate.
As he worked, he heard the whispers.
— Look, there he is...
— They say he was born under the Scarlet Comet... nothing good can come from him.
Mo Chen ignored the words. From a young age, he had learned not to care. The fields were his refuge, the only place where he could exist without judgment.
As night fell, he finished his work and, as was his custom, headed to the forest on the outskirts of the village. The ancient trees and whispering streams brought him peace. However, that night, something different caught his attention.
A faint, pulsating light emerged from the ruins of an ancient temple, hidden by dense vegetation.
Intrigued, he approached, moving silently through the shadows. The temple was in ruins, its statues shattered, and its walls crumbling. At the center of the main hall, a fragment of black jade emitted a spectral glow.
Mo Chen felt a chill. Something inside warned him not to touch the artifact. But his curiosity was stronger.
As soon as his fingers touched the jade, searing pain consumed him.
It was as if a thousand needles pierced his skin, as if millions of ravenous ants devoured his flesh. His body trembled, his vision darkened, and a silent roar filled his mind.
The jade burned into his flesh, fusing with his forearm. He collapsed to his knees, gasping, feeling his body transform. When the pain finally subsided, Mo Chen saw the mark left behind: a black, intricate tattoo, like sinuous roots spreading from his wrist to his elbow. At the center, an ancient symbol faintly pulsed.
In his mind, a name echoed.
**Scarlet Shadow Sutra.**
It was a cultivation method that transcended conventional techniques. It spoke of a path through darkness, where blood and shadows intertwined to create unparalleled power. But its practice came with risks—the mastery of this force required a balance between reason and the darkness within.
The first level granted him two abilities: **Shadow Fusion**, allowing him to vanish into shadows, and **Shadow Manifestation**, creating rudimentary forms of shadow Qi.
Still gasping for breath, Mo Chen clenched his fists. His fate had been sealed.
In the following days, he dedicated himself entirely to the Sutra. He distanced himself even further from the village, immersed in training.
And so, weeks passed.
It was on a moonless night that he felt something watching him. A shiver ran down his spine. The sounds of the forest fell silent.
And then, the eyes appeared.
Bright, cruel, lurking in the shadows.
A shadow beast, a legendary creature, a dweller of the mountain depths. The jade… it had called the creature. The power sealed within it had attracted the beast, like a beacon in the darkness.
The battle began in an instant.
The creature struck like lightning, its claws tearing through the air where Mo Chen had stood a moment before. The scent of damp earth and beastly flesh filled his senses. His heart pounded, but his mind remained cold.
He invoked Shadow Fusion, blending into the darkness around him. Moving like a specter, he dodged the beast's violent attacks. Shadow Manifestation formed a black, unstable, pulsating blade in his hand.
The creature charged again. Mo Chen slid aside, his blade slicing the beast's flank. A roar echoed through the forest. But the strike wasn't fatal.
The battle raged on. The air was thick with shadow Qi, the ground stained with blood. Every attack was calculated, every dodge the difference between life and death.
His body was struck. Claws pierced his flesh, ripping muscle and skin. The pain was excruciating, but he didn't relent.
Then, the opportunity arose.
With his last remnants of energy, he concentrated everything into the black blade. It trembled, expanded. Mo Chen lunged, piercing the creature's skull.
The beast let out one final roar before dissolving into shadows.
Exhausted, Mo Chen fell to his knees. His body was wrecked. He could barely breathe. But the beast was dead.
With what little strength remained, he dragged the creature's body to a nearby cave. He needed shelter.
In the days that followed, he survived by consuming the beast's flesh and drinking its blood. Each bitter, metallic piece reminded him of the fight. His body trembled with pain, but he endured.
As he recovered, his mind revisited every detail of the battle. Every mistake. Every success.
Was he strong?
No.
If that creature had been a little faster… a little more resilient… he would be dead.
Mo Chen spent weeks in the cave, reflecting and refining his control over the shadows. His body slowly healed, but his mind was elsewhere.
There was something he needed to see.
**The village.**
When he finally returned, what he found was emptiness.
The village no longer existed.
All that remained were ashes and ruins. The houses burned, the fields destroyed. No bodies. No signs of life. Only silence.
He stood there, observing.
The wind blew, carrying away the ashes of what he once called home.
No words were spoken. No tears were shed.
He simply understood.
And then, he turned and walked away.